


on his knees

by mairesmagicshop



Series: a thousand forgotten things - a pre-story Arcana collection [5]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Bathtubs, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Love Confessions, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Unnamed Apprentice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 17:58:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15296937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mairesmagicshop/pseuds/mairesmagicshop
Summary: Latest in the prequel series, follows "to serve."“When I asked you if I could take care of you, I meant – I mean, that is – to serve you, in any possible way a person can be served. I do so hope you’ll… permit me the pleasure.”  Julian and F!Apprentice share their feelings and much, much more during their first night together.





	on his knees

We dream all day in black and white  
And when the sun comes down, we learn to live again  
We waste away the darkest light  
And when the sun comes down, we learn to love again  
-better in the dark, say lou lou

If someone had told him he’d be ending this day with his apprentice stripping her clothes off before his very eyes, he would have been in hysterics (probably pulling a muscle in the process, for all his luck). But here he is, and he is most decidedly not laughing. His mouth is dry, for starters – he remembers the wine glass in his hand, drains it - and in any case, he’s mesmerized by her apparent lack of insecurity. I should turn away, he thinks, feeling awkward but undeniably excited as she unfastens her jacket and lets it fall to the floor. Her hand curves out over the bathtub, the water shimmering under the veil of her magic.

“Should I… ahem, I’ll just uh, wait out here,” he stutters.

“Please stay,” she says. “Just turn around for a moment. I’ll tell you when you can look.” And she winks at him. Winks! What is she playing at? Unable to hide his incredulity, he pirouettes on his heel to face his bed as her laughter fills the room. Her clothing rustles, is whispering to him; a perfectly nondescript sound in every other context now laden with possibility, with promise, with a heat he feels in his very core and he can hear it, for the love of everything holy – he can hear it, sliding down her body to the floor. Her belt falls with a loud clunk.

“I really must apologize to you, Julian.”

He pinches his eyes shut, wetting his lips with his tongue, trying in vain to bargain with the uncontrollable reaction taking up residence between his legs.

“Wh-whatever for?” The water has been disturbed, the gentle lapping sounds thrilling him even more as he imagines her delicate foot stepping in, gauzy plumes of scented steam curling around her – good call on the salts, as he takes a moment to congratulate himself and returns to his reverie - the bones of her ankle, the line of her calf, sinking beneath the surface. He squeezes his eyes tighter, the thoughts turning richly indecent.

“… I’ve behaved in an… impertinent manner.”

“You, ah – you don’t say?”

She laughs wickedly, humming her in throat. “I’ve been throwing myself at you for weeks, trying to see if you… well, if you’d respond, I suppose.”

He sighs. He was right! But of course he had known – he’d felt it. And it was so obvious now, he felt idiotic having doubted himself in the first place. But, how could he not? She’d come to him as an apprentice; he was in a position of authority, of trust. He couldn’t risk jeopardizing their progress and everything they’d worked for… on what? On his base desires? A hunch that she reciprocated his feelings which were inappropriate from the start? Before he disappears entirely into his too-familiar pit of self-loathing, her voice pulls him back from the brink.

“All right. You can turn around now.” With a deep breath, hands clasped in front of him, he pivots back around. The very sight of her roots him to the spot.

She’s gathered herself to the side of the tub, her arms draped over the side, chin resting on one hand. “And I’m sorry if I’ve been distracting you, but it’s just that…” With one slender finger, she beckons him. “Sit with me, will you?”

And of course he does, right there on the floor next to the tub, his long legs gathered beneath him, close enough to breathe her in.

She chews her lip, looking uncertain. “It’s just that… ugh – this sounded so much better in my heeeeeead…” she trails off in a sing-song voice, looking up at the ceiling. She inhales deeply. “Julian, I’m falling in love with you, and there couldn’t be a worse time or place for any of it, but…”

And he is dumbstruck, undone; afraid to move for fear that it will all be another fever dream, and he’ll awaken under a sheet of sweat, hand crudely pumping away, as he had so many nights before. But her confession has emboldened him, and he does not let her finish. Pushing up on his knees, he seizes her roughly over the edge of the tub, needfully, thieving her words away. Kisses her hard and oh, the way she parts her lips for him, their tongues meeting for the first time; shy of each other at first. She tastes of rapture and that fine red wine, like a fire in autumn as the chill sets in.

She draws in a quick breath and she is more insistent, hand coming behind his neck, urging him harder.

He forces himself from her, his breath ragged. “Wait, darling. Please wait.” This is it. No turning back now. Boldness. Steady! “I… I love you. I’ve wanted you since we met, which was… inconvenient,” he pauses, lips turning up into a joking smile, “because you were – you are – my apprentice and I… wouldn’t take advantage of you in that way. I respected you too much for that, not knowing – well, knowing for certain, anyway - how you felt about me. It… wouldn’t have been right.”

She strokes his cheek, along his jawline, down his neck. “And now? You know how I feel. Does it feel like you’re… taking advantage?”

No, it feels like heaven. She giggles, and he realizes he formed the words aloud. “Julian, you…”

“It’s Ilya. My given name is Ilya. My family calls me by that name and I’d… like if you did, too.” He cups both hands against her face and kisses her again, the newness of her soft, pliant lips intoxicating.

“Of course,” she murmurs against his mouth. “Ilya.” He cannot help but smile, hearing his true name issue forth from her tender lips, and he litters his kisses at the corner of her mouth, working his way down to her neck. She moans aloud and he feels himself stir at the sound, his blood cascading down in a mad rush. He lifts his head to face her once more.

“When I asked you if I could take care of you, I meant – I mean, that is – to serve you, in any possible way a person can be served. I do so hope you’ll… permit me the pleasure.” He rocks back to sit on his heels, submitting himself to her without apprehension or constraints.

For the first time, she is unreadable. The seconds tick by – the stillness between them agonizing - and he feels exposed as she regards him, searches him. As he drops his gaze, he notices she’s sitting higher, the tops of her breasts visible, her damp skin iridescent in the candlelight and the tension in him coils, thrums deep within him, pulled taut as a bowstring.

“That’s quite an offer,” she says finally, smiling dreamily, her eyelids heavy as she shakes her head slightly. “I can’t believe it. If you only knew how many times I dreamed of a moment like this with you… I accept.”

Even as he bites his lip mischievously, his heavy brow set in a jaunty arch, he cannot deny the relief that swells up through him so strongly he feels he might pitch forward to the floor; his unmitigated yearning for her runs over the banks of his heart, flooding the long-parched plains within.

“If that’s… really what you want,” she says, “then please… join me.”

“You want me to – yes, yes, of course,” he stammers. Summons a wolfish smile that’s braver than he feels. “You don’t need to ask me twice.” He jumps to his feet, and, thinking ahead, fetches two towels from a small cabinet at the foot of his bed. As he sets them down, she speaks again and he turns to face her.

“Ilya… would you… undress for me?”

His grin grows wider. “Ohhhohoho, but it would be my distinct pleasure.” He bows slightly before seizing his collar, ripping the stays open; fleeting, savage, his purpose clear. “Quickly then?” He cocks his head, tugs a sleeve gently. “Or slow?”

“Slow,” she breathes.

He chuckles warmly. Well my, my. “If it’s a show you want…” Slender fingers running from his neck to peel away his jacket, revealing his chest through his thin shirt. One shoulder, than the other, and he turns away, dropping it down his arms. “Then you’ve come to the right place,” he purrs from over one shoulder. Her sharp intake of breath thrills him, spurs him on. He has an incorrigible flair for the dramatic, but right now, it’s a gift. Could she know how much she’s indulging him by allowing him to indulge her?

He teases a bare shoulder from his shirt and spins to face her again, one hand running through his hair.

“You’re quite a natural at this,” she says, her tone deeper than usual.

“You think so?” He draws his fingers along the open edge, down to his waist. “What makes you say that?” Ends slowly untucking and he pulls them up to his mouth, his leanly muscled stomach exposed as his thumb drags down the trail of dark hair there; he unfastens his belt, his eyes fixed upon her.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she sighs. “Something in the way you move. It’s natural.”

“I do undress myself every day,” he quips. His belt hits the floor with a gentle crack. She gives him a suffering look as she smooths her hair back.

“Do you admire yourself while you do it?”

He reclines on the bed, artfully lifts one leg, then the other, to unclasp his boots, kicking them off with impossible grace. “Maybe.” He rocks forward, elbows resting on his spread knees, his shirt billowing open. “Wouldn’t you?” This banter is far more suave than he actually feels; but this moment is his stage, and the performing fills him with extraordinary daring.

He rises to his full height, pulling his shirt over his head as he stands, flexing his arms perhaps a little more than necessary, but as he hears the hitch in her quickened breathing he knows he’s chosen well. He balls the shirt between his hands and pitches it sideways to the corner of the room before sinking his thumbs below his waistband.

She nods in response. “I’m waiting.”

He slinks his pants down slowly, working the fabric from side to side down to his hip, and he feels saucy, naughty for her, his erection pressing assertively forward. He cups it in his other hand, miming a look of scandal, and she giggles, her bottom lip trapped in her teeth. He turns away once more, intent on giving her the full value of admission tonight. With a toss of his head, he arches his back, and pushes the waistband down, dipping dramatically down on one side, hip swaying, then the other. He’s lost in the moment, wiggling his ass as his pants glide further – had he even that much wine? – and finally down to the floor. He steps out delicately, and, taking a deep breath, he turns, fully exposed to her.

It feels strange yet alluring to be naked like this with her appraising eyes upon him, but her gaze is, as ever, disarming. He can almost see himself as he thinks she might – not some gawky, anemic-looking nobody, no. He is tall, handsome; could be gallant, even. Desirable. Despite being at his most exposed, he can almost believe that he is more than the sum of his parts; he is better than he knows, here in the dark with her.

“You’re so beautiful, Ilya,” she murmurs. “Please get in. The water’s perfect.” She shifts to one side, curling up her legs to make room for him, her arms coming to rest casually on the lip of tub as he dips his toes in, comes to sitting, facing her. Never thought I’d be so glad for the size of this thing, he thinks, as the water rocks gently against them. Gripping the sides of the tub, he leans forward, coming to his knees, mischief in his eyes. “How may I serve you, my lady?”

“You may wash me, to start,” she answers, without missing a beat.

“I was hoping you’d say that. Now if you’ll pardon my reach…” His fingers trail down one arm and up to the étagère right behind her. Her mouth comes to his neck and he feels her legs part beneath him – dear me, he thinks - and so of course he must bring his knee between them and press, gently, until he feels her tremble beneath him. He’s found what he seeks, in more ways than one, and as he draws back, sponge and soap in hand, she nips him under his jaw, the hot sting of it causing him to gasp aloud.

“Oh! I’m sorry, Ilya – was that too much?”

He smiles down at her. “No. I love it.” He shifts his knee forward, watches her face contort in pleasure. “Is that too much?”

“No,” she whispers, half in a moan, bringing her hands around his neck. “I love it.”

“Mmmm, good.” He can barely finish as she guides his lips to hers, offering all manner of illicit noises to him and he laps them up eagerly, a man starved. He wants to gorge himself on her, taste every exquisite inch of her as she rubs herself against him more eagerly, but he must be patient. If he means to serve on his knees - and he does – he will abide her whim and command. He will not take for himself. At least, he will try, for she arouses a certain fearlessness in him, the audacity to not only ask for what he wants but demand it from her; to act on any of his desires.

His breath is heated, ragged when he parts from her. “I can wash you now, then, if you like.”

She simply nods at him; she cannot find the words. He can see it in her expression; her own appetite has been whet and she cannot stop. He smiles knowingly, his longing soon to be sated. He will take great pleasure in slowing her only to hasten her again. “You must turn around then, darling.”

She complies, as if in a trance, facing her back to him. He presses firm kisses to the back of her neck as he reaches his arms in front of her, lathering the sponge, and then sets to his work, as if this could ever be considered work, he smiles to himself.

One soapy slick hand caresses up her left arm; the nubby sea sponge skips sensually up her right. He takes his mouth from her neck briefly, rests his lips just above her, nuzzles into her as his arms come up to her shoulders and down the sides of her back. Lifting his head, he brings his hands together at the base of her neck and follows the straight line of her back, noting the smattering of moles and freckles there – how he admires the idiosyncrasies of her! There is no end to his fascination of her every part and place. The sponge drops to the water and he rolls his fingers along her shoulders, pressing in with his thumbs, urging calm into the knots of muscles he finds there. She groans loudly at that, goes limp and pliable under his hands, leaning back into him.

Their change in attitude presents the perfect opportunity for him to return to his task. He picks up the sponge, re-lathers it, and brings his hands around her sides, running over her belly, up toward her breasts.

He cannot conceal the hardness hiding in the depths between his legs, and is conscious of it as she leans back. He leaps toward the contact, toward her, despite himself. But these sensations are all-consuming, and in a rare moment of fairness to himself, he does not lay blame: his cock pressed tightly against her back; his hands, so wet, curving round the sides of her breasts; his mouth, drawn to a spot near the base of her neck, slightly to the side, for when he kisses her there she shudders, humming with satisfaction.

He marvels at how sure his hands feel, cupping her against him, his thumb cresting one nipple, the sponge’s textured drag across the other, and she gasps, her head lolling back against him, breaths running rampant. Her back arches against him as she reaches back with one hand, catching his damp hair between her fingers. With the other, she takes his free hand, sinking them beneath the surface of the water.

“Touch me - please,” she all but begs, and he lets his hand fall together with hers like a stone, sinking into the unknown. Her supplication fills him with an odd sense of control, something he never sought; in fact, it had always been the other way around for him. True to form, he had already laid himself at her feet, relinquished all dominion over to her, acceded to her wishes; and yet, and yet. This give and take, the feeling that he could be – that he is - both master and slave is a heady brew, indeed, and he relishes it, being commanded to pleasure her while she mewls helplessly in her need.

She guides him precisely where she wants him, and even in the water he can differentiate - can feel the slickness gathering between her tender lips, the thatch of hair there made soft from soaking, undulating like sea grass caught in a current.

“Harder,” she urges.

He cups the whole of her sex in his hand then, his palm pressing on the hooded pearl of her. “Like that?” he murmurs, taking her earlobe between his teeth.

She sucks in a breath – “Yes, like that!” – and strains hard against him. His curious fingers probe more deeply, one finding its way to her entrance.

“Like this?” He trails his tongue up her neck, presses kisses back down.

“Precisely,” she says, and he can hear the grin in her voice. She admits him easily, her warmth enveloping first one, then two of his long fingers. He curves them slightly, driving her on, the heat rising in her. She writhes against him, breaths coming faster now, but suddenly, she asks him to wait, turns fluidly to face him.

“Please take me to bed.” From the look in her heavily-lidded eyes, it is not a request. She kisses him hard, reaches down to stroke him beneath the water and it sends him reeling. He makes to stand, to honor her command, but no sooner has he made his way to his feet do the edges of his vision go dark; to his surprise she has taken him in her mouth, fingernails digging into the meat of his ass to draw him closer.

He allows himself the gratification she’s offering for a few seconds, at least, then laughs weakly. “You’ll have to make up your mind, woman.”

She answers him mirthfully, coming away, her teeth scraping in the hollow of his hip. “I’m sorry, I know – I just had to taste you. You’re… you’re like a piece of art. I wanted to appreciate you fully.”

He grins wildly and all but vaults himself from the bathtub, reaching for his towel. “I’ve been called many things, darling, but that may be a first.” He dries quickly, and then holds the other out for her, inviting her into his embrace. “You’re too sweet.”

“I’m happy to be your first time for anything, Ilya.” She rises, and he’s drawn in by the rivulets of water racing their southward trail. She is breathtaking, glistening in the candlelight; a rosy glow about her, water dripping from the dusky hair at the junction of her thighs, and he is seized with the need to bury himself within her, to lose himself altogether.

He dries her with care, planting kisses upon her as he goes. “I’m sure there will be plenty to come,” he replies cheekily, as he moves behind her to kiss the tops of her shoulders, down her back, and sinks to his knees. “For both of us.” Dragging the towel over her backside, he bites her playfully, enjoying the way she startles, chastises him for being naughty - then drops lower; snakes his tongue along the delicate skin inside her thigh, up the beautiful crest where she parts.

He feels her knees buckle, the lewd whine she makes setting him aflame, and he holds her legs steady, helping her to lean over; her elbows on his bed as she rises high above him is a vision he will not readily forget.

“Ilya, is this… are you sure you… want to do this?” she whispers huskily.

“More than anything – erm, provided that’s also what you want,” he adds.

“I really do,” she says. “You seem rather skilled with your tongue.”

Rather than answer, he delves deeper. She makes sounds he’s never heard before, guttural and growling, as he traverses the most hidden place of her, the scent of her clean but earthy and lush. It is an act of utmost intimacy which at the same time feels entirely depraved – which he loves - and his still-hard cock pulses in time with the flicks of his tongue.

“Is it good, darling?” he asks, his voice muffled. She can only babble in response, her voice breaking.

“Yes, Ilya – fuuuuck…” His eyes go wide and he can’t help his self-satisfied smile as she reaches back and tugs his hair and he is debauched, drunk on it, devouring her; he is her captive, in thrall at her feet, capable of anything; everything. Before today, he’d never heard her curse before, and now, she repeats it, over and over again. Fuuuuuuck. Ilya, what the fuck? Please fuck me. He feels the strain within him, feels he’ll burst upon the touching – he must, must obey.

He pulls away and she whirls around on him, yanking him to his feet. Her hands are all over him: tangling up in his hair, raking pink trails down his chest, closing around his manhood before she shifts and pushes him down onto to the bed, climbing astride him.

Goddess, he thinks. Mistress. My lover, my love, I love you, I love you – his thoughts beat in time with his racing heart as she reaches between them and eases herself down. Dazed with the sensation of being so tightly sheathed within her, he looks up at her, and they sigh in time with each other, smiling, the joy so high in them, so abundant, in sync. He reaches for her and she clasps her hands in his, forcing his arms down on either side of his head, leaning forward to hold him down and riding him for all he’s worth. He manages a few murmured words of encouragement amidst the tangle of their tongues, her wild hips pitching and rolling stem to stern; she is a tempest, threatening to carry him away to parts unknown and he would let her, content to be consumed like this for the rest of his life.

The warmth of her body over him, her weight restraining him, the silky length of her caressing him; it’s too much, he’s been lusting too long, needing this release all night. He feels the surge within him, tries to deny it – it can’t be over yet, not so soon. He squeezes his eyes shut. No no no no no no-

“Ilya, I’m coming…” she gasps, rising above him, her fingernails digging painfully, pleasantly, into his shoulders. He feels the stutter inside her, the lovely spasm taking hold of him, paralyzing him; he is incapable to resist, but knowing they will reach climax together opens him to her and he does not try to fight it. She is frozen above him, her mouth open, but this time she lets forth a high-pitched shriek and she comes apart, eyes closing as she goes, dragging him off the precipice with her. He jerks upward, ascending his own zenith, and he cries out, too; his hands freed, he grabs her hips to steady himself and pulls her close as he stills; sated, emptied, finally.

He just holds her there to his chest, feeling her heart beat and the answering call of his own. Perhaps for the first time in his life, he doesn’t feel compelled to fill the silence. He can just be here in the stillness with her, and he is fulfilled. Her head grows heavy upon him, the candles nearly burned out, and though fatigue like a great fog has rolled through him, he can hear her muffled voice: “I love you, Ilya.”

“I love you, darling. You’ve made me so happy…”

He trails off, stroking her hair, and as he closes his eyes he can hear himself speaking nonsense, his dreams crossing into his waking mind as they do on occasion. But she does not answer, doesn’t stir. The lights wink out, one by one, and soon, he does too, the press of their entangled bodies and the sound of her laughter following him into the dark.


End file.
